Back to surreality. A river runs through it.

After somewhere like VV, a return to normalcy can be shocking, jarring even. Typically, said shock comes with a heavy pillow of relief from the fact that a return to normalcy is desired. The bus to Vientiane was short and uneventful, as was our time there in general. Heard from a friend in VV that the Kong Lo caves were the highlight of Laos, and weren't foolish enough to miss such a golden opportunity. Though starkly removed from any semblance of a beaten path, the route to Kong Lo was precisely what the doctor ordered. After a ride out in a bus, eating sticky rice by hand with soy sauce and being dropped at an intersection in the middle of the night with no real idea of it's location, sometimes lady luck lends a gorgeous hand. Whilst sitting on a bench roadside, chatting with a gentleman who bicycled here from Poland, a family moving van pulled up to get gas. Providence presides, and a ride is secured to the small town closest to the caves, where guesthouses are available. Stress should be put on the "moving"aspect of this van. Literally so chock full of farm equipment, women and children that entering through the windows was the only method of getting a seat. There was a small child dormant on a refrigerator next to me. Rugged.

Arrival yeilds a cheap and cheerful guesthouse, which, after a roach murder, is quite comfortable and free of other pests. Also, it turns out roaches fly. News to end all news.

The following day strike out early to achieve the desired goal of a 7 km journey through pitch black limestone caves. Eat some chicking with feathers on it. Feel not good about it. Get a tuktuk to the caves with some folk we met in VV. Hilarity ensues.

The caves are truly beyond description. I may throw that around, but the feeling of floating through a mountain on a boat in the most truly enveloping darkness is one that must be felt to be believed. The guide's headlamps stab fruitlessly at making sense of the scale and scope of the cave complex. Hundred meter vaulting ceilings blast skyward seeming to make no sense that sky doesn't show at their apex. Indoor waterfalls speckle the water with drops falling from crevices that rise straight to the mountaintop. At some points, exiting the boat is a necessity to portage over rapids. Instead of repeating the same on the way back, a slightly different route is taken to avoid becoming bored as if it was a possibility when sitting in a state of shock and awe. Guides seem to be good company, and as a result eschew the traditional portage in favour of pulling in the boat engine and sledding down the rapids like lunatics. Awesome.